(This began as a comment to Felipe, on his blog, The Zapata Tales, and his post, "The Smells of Mexico".)
For me, nothing beats stepping outside the front door in the early morning to turn up the heat on the hot water heater, and inhaling that scent of new mown hay and the sweet smell of recently born calves.
(Calves are so cute when young, then they grow up to be large, bespattered, klunky kows and pendulous toros.)
But, after being out here at the Hacienda nearly 3 years, I don't mind the wet cow plop on the streets and roads. After all, it's 100% organic.
I'm not so keen on the canine road pudding about a kilometer on out toward the crossoads. But, on the other hand, the horse mummy along the base of the big hill on the way to Tzurumútaro is now curing nicely. The smell is hardly noticeable as we drive by.
As the dawn comes, the many birds began their varied musical choruses.
At la Casa Hacienda Cuevas, there is much baking, adding its aromas to the mix. However, my baking schedule is not as regular as that of Felipe's Guapa Señora, who bakes pastries to sell every Saturday under the portales of La Plaza Grande.
What more could I want? A warm Danish pastry? I already have that before me with a mug of café de Chiapas.
Now, I want to toast the memory of Mel O'Hara, who died 3 years ago in his casita just over the way from our house. It was he that kindly lead us to our new home place. We liked the place right away, but now we love it.
Here's to Mel! I lift my coffee mug to his memory.